


Trying

by Dusty



Series: Dirty Little Secrets [2]
Category: As Time Goes By
Genre: Desperation Play, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lionel's curiosity gets the better of him, but with happy consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is now a series. They both have a few things to discover...

Jean had gone out running several errands that morning, after snapping at Lionel. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong; only that there were two choices and both seemed to get him in trouble, so he buried himself in his newspaper and waited for his sausages to cook.

It was after breakfast that he realised he was wasting his opportunity. He checked his watch. She would be another hour at least. He crept up the stairs and located Jean’s laptop.

He’d cursed the damn thing since Judy and Alastair has bought it for Jean for her birthday. Now she was always emailing and enjoying ridiculous videos with cats. More recently, though, she’d been reading more of her naughty stories. He could tell. Not just at bedtime, either. He'd catch her wriggling in her seat, cheeks pink, pupils blown. And right now, he was going to discover exactly what she’d been reading lately that was so fascinating.

He smirked as it came to life; left on standby again. This was a breach of trust, of course. But Lionel had a theory: that there was a correlation between Jean’s reading habits and her tetchy moods. Perhaps there was a way to cure that, he considered.

He wasn’t prepared for what he found. This time, he read a full story. It read pretty well – just an apparently normal short story. Until it became steamy. And not just any steamy, but explicitly and creatively steamy. He felt his ears go pink. Was Jean into this sort of thing?

With a little exploration, he found an index of more ‘fiction’, detailing the story content. The tags alone took his breath away. Some things seemed midly adventurous whereas others... He cleared his throat. He re-traced his steps, covering his tracks, and closed the laptop. He was going to have to talk to her. But how? He wasn’t angry or upset, just deeply curious, and if he was honest, quite interested and hot under the collar. But how to address it without admitting the invasion into her privacy?

He padded downstairs, made a cup of tea and sat in silent contemplation. With the occasional guilty squirm and telling blush.

\---

The door slammed shut. “I’m home,” called Jean out of habit.

“I gathered,” replied Lionel, smiling to himself. He glanced up as Jean appeared in the living room doorway, hands full of bags. She was fairly dishevelled, hair sticking up and outfit askew. Her low cut blouse gaped open slightly and her summery skirt swished when she moved.

“Get everything?” he asked.

“Yes. Mission accomplished,” she said waving the bags at him. “Just going to pop these in the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Want one?”

“Just had one, thanks,” he said as she left the room. He bit his lip, then followed her into the kitchen.

She was busy squirreling away various condiments, doilies, spices and utensils which she’d for some reason decided needed to be replenished. Plus a new apron.

“Bit excessive, isn’t it? I’ve a hard enough time finding places for everything as it is.”

She fixed him with a glare, new fish slice in hand. “You never know when something’s going to break or run out,” she explained.

Lionel stared back at her deliberately. “I’m sure between the two of us we can keep tabs on it. Not like we’re overrun with the girls anymore.”

Jean tried to resist pouting. “No,” she said sadly.

Lionel felt a stab of guilt. “It’s a very nice apron,” he said quickly.

She smiled at him. She loved when he at least tried. “I think so,” she said, holding it up. It was silly ‘sexy’ apron, making the wearer appear nude. She giggled. “To make cooking more fun.”

He stepped in and cuddled her, kissing her hair and enjoying her warmth.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, relaxing in his arms.

“Yes,” he agreed. He held her quietly for a long moment. “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?” he asked.

She looked up at him in surprise.

“I mean, not to deprive you of the opportunity to enjoy your new purchase, but we haven’t been on a date for a little while, have we.”

“No,” said Jean, eyes dancing. “What do you fancy?”

“I don’t mind. You decide.”

“Oh,” she said, grinning. Her smile vanished as she had a thought. “What have you done?” she asked severely.

Lionel’s mouth fell open. “Nothing!” he lied. “I just thought it was high time we had a meal together, that’s all.” At least that bit was true.

Jean eyed him suspiciously. “All right then. I’ll think about where.”

She moved to turn away but her held her tight, then leaned in and kissed her properly. She responded, wrapping her arms back around him. He deepened the kiss, until minutes later, they parted breathless.

“What was that for?” she asked dreamily.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just missed you.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. Before she could say anything else, he kissed her again, pushing her lightly against the table.

She broke of the kiss, panting. “Lionel!” she giggled. “Shall we go upstairs?”

He eyes gleamed. “No,” he said gently. “We’re alone in the house. This will do just fine.” He patted the table.

Jean’s blushed furiously, eyes wide, chest heavy. He knew he’d struck gold.

“Here?” she rasped.

“Here,” he said.

She looked as though she could be knocked down with a feather. Lionel chuckled. He lifted her so she was sitting on her kitchen table, then positioned himself between her legs and holding her close to reassure her he hadn't gone mad. “This is what it means to be a real domestic goddess,” he purred, before kissing her again and tenderly leaning her backwards.

She could feel him pressing against her. “Lionel,” she gasped, dizzy with arousal. Her mind raced. He never liked to do these things outside of the bedroom. Inside the bedroom he’d do most anything, but outside was another matter. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d been craving this particular misadventure. Somewhere in her foggy mind, it occurred to her it was more like one of the stories she’d been reading.

He ground against her and they both moaned. He wasn’t exactly comfortable in the kitchen, but it was worth it for seeing her reaction – to know he was the cause of it. His hands ventured under her skirt, warm fingers finding their way. He smiled at her as he tugged down her damp knickers, then returned to feel just how ready she was.

“You’re a little devil,” he intoned.

She was squirming on the table. “Oh shut up and do it, Lionel,” she said breathlessly. “I want you..”

He thought he might spontaneously combust. He hadn’t seen her this wild in ages. He unbuckled and unfastened everything in his way, pushing all material down his legs and shifting closer in between Jean’s. He lifted her skirt up and out of the way.

They both sighed and chuckled; enjoying the half clothed urgency of it while knowing they had all the time in the world.

He lined himself up with an impish smile. “Come here,” he breathed sweetly. He pushed into her slick heat and almost immediately fell on top of her. He cried out. Why was this so much more exhilarating? Everything felt more vivid.

She keened underneath him as he began to rut; gently at first, watching her carefully. She grabbed at him, smiling softly. He refused to rush it, but the situation was playing with his mind. Surely the point was to be devil-may-care right now. The table rocked and squeaked underneath them, momentum building. The sound should have been comical, but it urged them on. They were fucking in the middle of the house. Loudly.

Just when she thought the table would give way, she felt him slip out. His hands were on her hips. He suddenly flipped her like a rag doll so she was on her front. She cried out wantonly and he was immediately back inside her. She felt him lean down on her back, kissing her neck.

“OK?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she croaked. “ _Please_ …”

He straightened up and thrust hard, one hand gently holding her in place while the other held her hip. He thrust again, then maintained a powerful rhythm. Jean gripped the table as well as she could, watching the salt and pepper jolt at the other end of the table with their movements. Her vision blurred.

“Harder,” she heard herself say, now past the point of any inhibition whatsoever. He dutifully complied, slapping into her, her cries becoming screams of intense pleasure that he hadn’t realised were absent from their usual lovemaking. She used to sound like this, he pondered, until his own body took over and he couldn’t think anymore.

He quickened, his control slipping, eliciting a gutteral cry on every move. He heard her come; an unmistakable wail, as her body shook, and he followed quickly after, flopping on top of her but supporting his weight with the table. He laced his fingers through hers and nuzzled her damp neck as they both caught their breath, bodies throbbing and shuddering.  

Dazed, they supported each other as they got to their feet, restored bits of clothing and staggered through to the living room for a good cuddle on the couch.

“What brought that on?” asked Jean eventually, dozy and mystified.

“Well,” said Lionel, his throat dry. “It’s a warm day.”

She snuggled up to him as they drifted off to sleep for a good hour, both with smiles on their faces.


	2. Chapter 2

She’d chosen 'Renee’s', a charming little French bistro in Notting Hill. They kept smirking at each other.

“You’re glowing,” accused Jean.

“So are you,” said Lionel, with a wink.

They sat down feeling delightfully smug and set about ordering an unusually indulgent meal and a very good wine.

By the time they were having coffee, they were feeling pleasantly sated and dreamy, holding hands on the table.

“This is nice,” Jean said with a happy sigh, her other hand under her chin.

“Yes,” agreed Lionel, beaming at her. “Now why didn’t we do that before today?”

“The boeuf bourguignon?” asked Jean innocently.

Lionel squeezed her hand warningly. “You know what I’m talking about.”

She retracted her hand from his and played with her saucer. “I don’t know really,” she said with a shrug, avoiding his gaze. “I never expected you would want to. It was quite a surprise.”

He chuckled. “Yes I imagine it was. Only, now it’s just you and I, I suppose I just…” He trailed off, trying to provide her with his motive without revealing the true cause: what he’d read on her laptop. He shrugged.

“I’m not complaining,” she said, her voice gravelly. She moved her hand back to his. “I might be concerned for the integrity the table now, mind,” she said.

Lionel grinned and sipped his espresso.

Jean had a glint in her eye. “Whereas my integrity is long gone,” she said brazenly.

She laughed wickedly as Lionel spluttered his coffee. He went bright red.

“ _Jean_ ,” he chided, when he could talk again, clearly painfully embarrassed.

She simply giggled. “Sorry Lionel,” she said warmly.

He leaned in conspiratorially. “There are many things I wish to discuss with you,” he said in a low growl. “Not least of which, your ‘integrity’. But there is a time and place.”

“Yes,” she said. “Like slap bang in the middle of the kitchen.” She giggled again, clearly still silly from the wine, and watched his face form a scowl. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Sorry,” she said, with genuine contrition.

“Good,” said Lionel, still stern. “We’ll talk about it later.”

She licked her lips. “Yes, Lionel,” she said coquettishly, peeping at him through her eyelashes.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “If you have any other _ideas_ , Jean, I want you to tell me.”

She frowned slightly in confusion, eyes studying him, now serious.

“I mean,” he continued, “don’t assume I won’t want to try something. That’s all.” He cleared his throat and glanced about nervously.

“Oh,” she said, blinking at the table cloth. She felt her face heat up but looked right at him nonetheless. “Okay,” came her matter of fact response. “I will if you will.”

He smiled. This was his lady, his best friend, his wife and his lover, all in one. Could it be that there was still so much to discover.

Their fingers interlaced again, their eyes still locked.

“Just you wait till I get you home,” he murmured sweetly.

“I’ll try,” she said, eyes sparkling with sincerity.

From the other side of the restaurant, the young waiters noticed and smiled at each other, confessing their hope for a love just like that.


End file.
